Undercover
by cactusnell
Summary: Sherlock takes Molly on an undercover assignment, but not everything works out as expected. Sherlolly


ARE YOU READY FOR TONIGHT? - SH

Molly Hooper read the text from Sherlock Holmes, world's only consulting detective, and, looking at her image in the mirror, thought, with a sigh, I suppose so. The woman looking back at her looked nothing like Molly. Big hair. Huge hair! Long line black lacy bra, barely covered by a sheer black blouse tied at the midriff. An imitation leather mini skirt hung low on her hip, with a provocative slit up one thigh. Lots of cheap jewelry adorned her neck and fingers, with huge hoop earrings dangling on either side of her head. Stiletto heels on bare legs completed the look. Molly thought she looked like a sailor's dream and a mother's nightmare!

I'M READY. WHERE ARE YOU? - MH

JUST PULLING UP IN A CAB OUTSIDE YOUR FLAT - SH

BE RIGHT DOWN - MH

Sherlock got out of the cab to await Molly's arrival, but even so barely noticed her at first, doing a quick double take when he realized who it was heading for the vehicle.

"Molly?!"

"Sherlock?"

"What the bleeding hell have you got on?"

"You said to dress like a slag, Sherlock. Don't you think I look the part?"

"Too much the part! You'll have to change!"

"Sherlock, you may find this hard to believe, but my wardrobe does not contain an over abundance of slutty attire. I had to buy this stuff, and it's all I have. Greg said the skankier I could look, the better. So this is it."

"Who cares what this Greg, whoever he is, said, Molly Hooper. You cannot walk the streets of London looking like that!"

"I would imagine that quite a few London streetwalkers are dressed similarly, Sherlock!"

Sherlock removed his suit coat. "Here, put this on!" Molly let out a sigh of concession as she slipped her arms into the proffered jacket. They heard a grumble from the cabbie as they climbed into the rear, and a low mumble which sounded like, "Pity to spoil a view like that, mate!", which Sherlock studiously ignored.

"So, what's the plan, Sherlock?" Molly asked as the cab wended it way through the crowded streets.

"We go to the club, where you are to make a spectacle of yourself on the dance floor, which shouldn't be difficult in that outfit…"

"Why, thank you, Mr. Holmes."

"It wasn't meant as a compliment, Dr. Hooper!"

"I know, but I'll take what I can get!" Molly smiled sweetly and Sherlock grunted.

Sherlock continued, "Lestrade and I will be observing from the sidelines. Any inordinate interest, or suspicious behavior, will be noted and compared to that in our perp's profile. We will take immediate action if we think you are in any danger, Molly, so there is no need to worry."

"Should I be looking out for anything in particular?"

"No, just leave that to us. This is the first night of the operation, so odds are nothing at all will happen. Sgt. Donovan is working with another unit at a secondary location. Although with her as bait, they are not likely to catch anyone."

"Ah, so you think I'm more attractive bait than Sally? I don't know, Sherlock. I've heard some pretty wild tales about Sally Donovan…"

"Perhaps I should have accompanied her, then?" Sherlock smirked.

When they arrived at the club in question, Sherlock retrieved his coat from Molly and made his way inside to join DI Lestrade at a table in the corner, where they could see the entire dance floor. Molly soon entered, ordered a drink, and was quickly surrounded by eager suitors. _This was going to be long night,_ Sherlock thought.

However, it turned out to be a rather short night, as Molly Hooper, once again wrapped in the detective's jacket, and Sherlock Holmes were hustled to a waiting police car by Lestrade.

"Brilliant, Sherlock! Way to keep a low profile there, mate!"

There was a deafening silence in the back seat of the police car, both parties keeping their eyes fixed on the road ahead and their arms crossed over their chests. When the vehicle pulled up in front of 221B Baker Street, Sherlock finally broke the silence. "You should have taken Dr. Hooper home first!"

"My orders were to drop you both off here. Or at central booking. Take your pick."

Molly sighed as she opened the door to exit, while Sherlock muttered, "Bloody hell!" and moved to follow her.

Mrs. Hudson and her guest were sitting comfortably in her kitchen, enjoying a cup of coffee, when they heard the front door slam.

"That must be him now, Violet," Martha Hudson remarked to the woman who sat opposite her. The other woman was obviously planning on spending the night, as she was already wearing a dressing gown and comfy slippers. The women then heard the door slam again, with even more force, and a voice shouting, "Molly Hooper, we need to talk!"

"Now, that's definitely Sherlock!" said the second woman, then they both started to giggle. "Maybe we should investigate!"

"I don't know, Violet…"

"Nonsense, Martha, you're as curious as I am! Let's go!" And the two older woman climbed the stairway to 221B.

Molly was removing Sherlock's jacket to throw in his face, shouting, "Why the hell do you need to talk to me now? You should have talked to me before you assaulted him!"

"It was hardly a full on assault, Molly. It was a single punch to the nose!"

"You broke his nose, you git!"

"Molly, he was behaving like a blind man, and you were a Braille manuscript!"

"Yes, but he certainly wasn't deaf, Sherlock Holmes. And you never said a word to him, just knocked him to the floor!"

"He could have been our perp, Molly!"

"He was barely 5'4", Sherlock. With a limp! And a severe twitch!"

"What's the matter, Molly?" Sherlock practically sneered at her, "Were you, perhaps, enjoying the reading lesson…"

The woman in the dressing gown spoke with a quiet authority that cut through the shouting like a hot knife through cold butter, "Sherlock Holmes, you apologize immediately!"

His chin dropping to his chest, the great detective could only mutter the word, "Mummy."

Molly's eyes grew wide. "Mummy?" she said, panicked, as she grabbed for Sherlock's coat to once again cover herself.

Sherlock recovered rather more quickly than his pathologist, and turned to face his mother, "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I assume you owe this pleasure to losing a bet with your brother, or some other such nonsense, Sherlock. I was supposed to stay at Mycroft's, but he advised me that plans had changed. And, of course, I know how happy you are to see me! Now, apologize to Dr. Hooper!"

Sherlock muttered. "My apologies," under his breath, but could not bring himself to look at either his mother or his pathologist.

"Dr. Hooper, I presume?" Violet Holmes extended her hand to the young woman. "My, you're even lovelier than I expected. Sherlock has told me so much about you, but his description doesn't do you justice."

Molly had the good sense to blush. "I have to explain this…"

"Rather revealing attire? No need. I just assumed you were assisting my semi-famous detective son with a case. No need to feel self-conscious. I've seen worse on 'Dancing with the Stars!' "

"He's been ranting at me all night about how slutty I look. But I was told to dress this way, Mrs. Holmes. I don't usually…"

"Of course not, my dear. Hardly appropriate for a medical professional in her lab!" Violet Holmes was giggling a bit now.

"Mummy, she wearing a bra!"

"Most well brought up young ladies do, Sherlock. Surely you have guessed that at this late date. Although I suppose your vast experience with those free spirited young women at uni may have colored your views."

"Mummy, we have agreed not to bring up my experiments at uni. And I do understand that women wears bras. However, it has always been my expectation that they wear them on the inside, not…"

"Sherlock, dear, have you ever heard of Madonna? Beyonce? Katie Perry?" At his blank look, Violet Holmes sighed. "No, perhaps not. Your education is sorely lacking in some areas, luv." She shook her head, and continued, "Besides, you, yourself, don't exactly look ready for tea with the queen, dear. How can you breath in those tight trousers? And that shirt! For god's sake, Sherlock, button up. You look like a gigolo!"

It was now Sherlock's turn to blush as he made his way to his bedroom, muttering, "Excuse me!" to the trio of females.

Mrs. Hudson was the first to ask, "Molly dear, what happened? Why is Sherlock so angry?"

"I think he's upset because he may have to apologize to the man whose nose he broke. Turns out he is a councillor for the City of London. The man was more than a bit drunk, and rather handsy, but I could have handled it."

"I'm sure you could have, dear, just as I am sure that Sherlock would never have allowed you to!" Violet then turned to her long time friend. "Remember, Martha, that club in Soho, what was it, forty odd years ago. That awful drunk who wouldn't leave either of us alone?"

"As I recall, Vi, your outfit wasn't much better than Molly's here!"

"Yours was even worse. It was one of your dancing costumes, wasn't it, Martha? Didn't leave much to the imagination, as I recall."

"At the places where I worked, luv, the men didn't need much imagination!" Martha and Violet giggled as they reminisced. "That was the night you met Siger. How could I forget? You owe me a lot for taking you slumming that night, Vi!"

Violet smiled at the recollection. "He was so handsome, Martha. I think I fell in love the moment he knocked that awful man to the floor!"

"Too bad you couldn't do anything about it until you bailed him out, Vi!"

"Ah, but I didn't waste any time then, did I, Martha…"

"Mummy, please, I really don't need to hear that! Don't you think you've damaged my delicate psyche quite enough already!" Sherlock, having reappeared, spoke sullenly as he plopped into his chair dressed in robe and pajamas.

"You look quite like what your father, Sherlock. Tall, handsome, those cheekbones. Your father was quite the catch. Unlike you, however, he used those attributes to full advantage…"

"More damage, mummy. Please stop!"

Molly was sitting quietly, taking this all in. Mrs. Holmes sounded quite normal, not at all what she expected from her acquaintance with her two sons. Her easy manner, and slightly ribald sense of humor, was very endearing. She was following this conversation with great interest when she became the target.

"Molly, dear, you should consider yourself fortunate you don't have to bail him out. Mycroft can handle the city councillor, I'm sure. I'll make sure he does!"

"Mrs. Holmes, I'm afraid you have the wrong idea. Sherlock and I are not...I mean we never...he's not at all interested…"

"Then explain to me why you are currently sitting in my son's sitting room, in, I must say, a rather alluring outfit, while he is lounging in his chair, in his pajamas, with obviously no intention of seeing you home, and waiting, rather impatiently judging from the constant motion of his fingers on the arm of the chair," she glanced over and her son immediately stopped the movement, "for me to retire to the upstairs bedroom. You see, my dear, my son is not the only one who is adept at deducing things!"

Mrs. Holmes and Mrs. Hudson rose together from their seats on the couch, heading toward the door of the flat while exchanging knowing looks. Violet Holmes stopped long enough in the doorway to say to Dr. Hooper, in parting, "My son is very adept at reading Braille, my dear, and I am sure he finds you a very interesting volume!" She couldn't resist winking as she closed the door behind her.


End file.
